


Between These Walls

by delighted



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, One Shot Collection, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted
Summary: A selection of short and sweet one-shot stories capturing intimate moments at various points in an established relationship between Steve and Danny.(Stand-alone stories, not a singular timeline.)
Relationships: Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams
Comments: 44
Kudos: 179





	1. After a Long Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlgeriaTouchshriek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlgeriaTouchshriek/gifts).



> I've been wanting to do some Established Relationship stories, and someone recently reminded me I've been neglecting the smuttier stories, so here we go, a little summer fun.
> 
> I guess these will be a sort of alternate to my "how they start sleeping together" stories.... 
> 
> Or: How They Are Now That They Are Sleeping Together. 
> 
> .... And we’ll see where it goes.
> 
> for Algeria....  
> Yeah, I blame you for this. Thank you. <3

It’s late by the time he finally makes it home. It hasn’t been a good day. Not that the days Steve’s at work while Danny’s off are ever good days, but this one has been especially bad. He thinks about eating something, having a drink. But he’s tired, and he knows he smells like smoke, and frankly he just wants to get in bed. 

He showers in the hall bath. There’s kind of an unspoken rule about that. Less so he doesn’t wake Danny, more because it keeps some semblance of peace in their shower. Keeps it a place of solace. Well. And... other things. 

He watches the grime swirl down the drain, taking part of his bad mood with it. Part, but not all. That... that’ll come later. 

It’s not much more than a cursory drying off, though it’s followed by a thorough brushing of the teeth. And he doesn’t even bother with pajamas. He tells himself it’s because he’s tired. Well, that, and he’s gotta be up again in just a couple hours anyway. It makes bothering to dress for bed that much more pointless. 

Ordinarily he’d take this slow. Watch for a while. Soak in the sight—the beautiful sight—of the blond in his bed. Maybe he really is just that tired, because tonight he doesn’t. Doesn’t need to see it tonight as much as he needs to feel it. Feel the weight, the warmth, the inevitability, as he slides between the sheets, careful to move gently, slowly, not wanting to wake Danny, not wanting to disturb his all-too-rare peaceful slumber. 

Danny does wake, just enough to grunt and press back against Steve, muttering incoherently as his warm skin meets Steve’s damp, air-chilled flesh. Steve knows he’s being scolded. Grins delightedly, pressing more firmly against Danny, soaking up his heat, not meaning anything by it except wanting to be close. He nuzzles at Danny’s shoulder, nipping playfully, lovingly. 

_ Longingly. _

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t so much that he wasn’t hungry, wanted to get to sleep, as it was that he  _ is _ hungry, wanted to get to bed... because of who’s there. Who’s  _ here.  _ Next to him. Warming his bed.  _ Their bed.  _ Warming his heart. 

Warming a few other things as well.

“Babe,” Danny murmurs sleepily, pressing even further back against Steve, squirming his hips, reaching a lazy arm back, pulling Steve’s head closer against his bare shoulder. 

Bare shoulder...  _ bare everything else as well,  _ Steve realizes with a flush of desire tingling across his skin, curling his toes. 

Danny’s other hand slides out from beneath him, reaches up and along his side, finds Steve’s hand on his hip and tugs it down to Danny’s swelling dick, wrapping his fingers with Steve’s, squeezing, thrusting into their joined hands, then pushing back against Steve, encouraging him with the hand tangling now in Steve’s hair, urging him to be  _ closer, closer, more.... _

Not that Steve needs the encouragement, but he loves having it, loves any time Danny responds to him like this—barely waking, but eager, responsive, willing. Wanting. Even not fully awake, not fully aware, as though just the mere touch of Steve’s skin against his engages his need. Like it’s only ever barely sleeping beneath the surface. Ready to spring forth any time, ready to emerge, to engage, to embrace. It’s why Steve’s become such a sexual being. His own need had never been this great, before Danny ended up sharing his bed as well as his life. The more he sleeps with Danny the more he needs sex with Danny, and that had taken some time to get used to. 

He likes to think he’s used to it now, but in the sense that he’ll never get used to it, never get used to this, to how amazing it feels, just to thrust against Danny like this, rutting, blindly, clumsily finding their release. Not in some overwhelming flood of passion, some primal, animalistic need, but just a soft, sweet, sleepy longing to be close, to be loved, to be connected.

Danny’s orgasm builds faster than Steve’s, he pushes Steve’s hand away, pragmatically catches his come in a towel he had ready, then turns, lazily still, but expertly, practiced, still from genuine need, authentic desire, finishes Steve off with a few slick grasps along his dick, but mostly with a deep, hungry, delving kiss that creates another longing in Steve. One he follows, even as Danny cleans him, slightly messily, up. 

And that’s another something Steve had never really understood. Kissing as its whole own form of enjoyment, not simply a precursor to, an entry into sex. The kiss  _ after _ sex, when it’s like this, becomes for him almost the main event. He’s to old for the notion of going again, but Danny’s kisses now he’s more awake honestly are better than the sex. Steve’s own oral methods had been forceful, aggressive, claiming. Danny’s are... so much more. He’d taught Steve an entire new language with his lips, his teeth, his tongue. And frankly Steve hasn’t been the same since. 

Danny sets up a slow exploration now. And it feels almost invasive. Too intimate. As though he’s able to read Steve’s mood, his energy, all the details of his day, from the inside of his mouth. It’s nearly unsettling, except he’s become accustomed to it. More allowing of Danny’s intrusion beyond Steve’s boundaries, his shields, his self-protective methods. Those had meant nothing, with Danny dwelling between the walls of his home. Residing within the walls of his heart. Danny sees all, hears all, knows all...  _ feels all, _ and Steve allows it, kisses his day back to Danny’s lips, lets Danny kiss it away, kissing peace, comfort, healing onto his lips, into his heart. 

When he senses he’s achieved that, Danny pulls back, pulls Steve close, shushes him, and it’s only then Steve realizes he’s been making any sounds at all, soft little whimpers as he releases his day, lands safely at  _ home.  _

Danny whispers “Sleep now, babe,” and falls, nearly immediately, back asleep himself.

Steve tries to stay awake, to feel the glow, the soft humming of his electrified skin as it edges him down from his day. But the gravitational pull from the man at his side is too strong for him to resist. Not that he  _ wants _ to. He falls into orbit around his lodestar, giving up his power, his struggle, his control... gratefully, comfortably, easily... and falls, slowly, inexorably, alongside him, to sleep.


	2. Under the Same Roof

Danny tiptoes out to the living room. Not because he doesn’t want to wake Steve—he fully plans on waking Steve—but he’d really rather not wake Charlie.

He leans against the doorframe, watching the stillness of Steve’s silhouette, outlined against the backlit window. There’s always a sense of awe, of fascination, some strange pull on his attention when Steve is at rest. Not just when he’s at ease, because as taut, as tense, as Steve’s capable of being, he’s more easily at ease than Danny is at the best of times. But there’s a difference between ease and rest that Danny hadn’t fully appreciated till he’d started spending time regularly watching Steve sleep.

And not the kind of watching Steve sleep that Danny’s known for more then ten years. The making-sure-he’s-still-breathing kind, or the praying to gods he doesn’t believe in that Steve will _wake up_ kind. 

No, this is another kind. And maybe it’s a little bit the _I can’t believe this man is in my bed_ kind. 

Only tonight... he’s not. 

Tonight, Steve (in a sweet if a little misguided attempt at protecting Charlie’s theoretical sensibilities from the potential hazard of waking up to find his Uncle Steve in bed with his Danno) is sleeping on the sofa. 

And it’s not like Danny doesn’t realize Steve’s still got a little ways to go in being fully comfortable with the concept of Charlie being aware “uncle” isn’t exactly an accurate term anymore. He’s come so far as to kiss Danny on the lips in front of Charlie. (In front of _everyone,_ actually. Which makes Danny positively delighted, if he’s honest.) But when it comes to sleep.... Well. Danny is familiar with the concept of regression when it comes to sleep and emotions. He knows there are biological reasons people are more likely to be less emotionally advanced at night. Why traumas resurface, childhood fears re-emerge. He’s a dad, after all. He’s familiar with the _middle of the night, frightened child climbing into his bed_ thing. So he hasn’t wanted to push Steve where he’s not comfortable. (Especially since said “not comfortable” revolves around the still reasonable likelihood of Charlie making just such a midnight appearance in Danny’s bed.)

It’s just that tonight he’s maybe dealing with a little sleep regression of his own. And, it’s not that Danny hasn’t grown accustomed to sleeping alone, during the more-often-than-not times in the last ten years that his bed has been a solitary place (apart from those often frequent middle of the night visits). 

But the thing is... once Danny’d gotten used to sharing a bed with Steve (and it wasn’t the world’s easiest adjustment, if you must know—the man is a heater and an octopus and a heavy sleeper and he tends to steal the blankets). But once he’d gotten used to it, well... it had started to be increasingly difficult to sleep _without_ him in his bed. 

Tonight is just such a night. And not entirely because it has been a bit of a tense day and Danny could do with some stress relief. That’s just practical. He’ll sleep better. But it’s not even that so much as he just doesn’t want to sleep alone when his partner, his best friend, his lover, his hopefully someday husband, is _this_ close. But just not close enough. 

Of course now he’s thinking about it, he’s interested in things other than sleep. But honestly that hadn’t been why he’d finally given in and climbed out of bed. 

His sofa is pretty big. He had (however many years ago he’d bought it) picked it primarily knowing Steve would end up sleeping on it with the same regularity he tended to sleep on Steve’s less than comfortable couch. He knows they can both fit on it. For cuddling, at least, if not the most restful of sleep. But he also knows the optimal positions on the well-tested-sofa for a handful of reasonable sexual activities. He knows right where he fits, as he slides into place between Steve’s back and the back of the sofa, settling in with a sigh of contentment at being in contact with Steve’s solid body.

Danny lets his hand run along Steve’s back, down to his ass, fingers curling under the fabric of his sleep shorts, pressing gently at the soft, warm, hairy flesh, sense memory driving his desire till he can resist no longer, and he sucks kisses along Steve’s shoulder where he’s resting his head, nuzzling into the heat, the scent, the comfort that is Steve. 

He doesn’t wake, but he does stir. A soft grunt of appreciation, as he presses his hips back against Danny’s, his body quivering slightly at the sensation of Danny against him. It sends a wave of pleasure through Danny—Steve’s responsiveness always does. (It’d been how Danny’d known... back when this started. Steve’s words may have demurred, but his body had not.) There’s nothing of denial about Steve right now, and it fuels Danny’s instinct, his subconscious desire, the sense that tonight, he can push. Tonight, maybe he should. 

He gives one last lingering squeeze on Steve’s ass, then lets his hand travel up, underneath Steve’s shirt, smoothing against the hot flesh, fingering the muscles, tangling in the chest hairs, settling, hand splayed possessively, protectively, over Steve’s heart. 

As he stills, somehow that’s what brings Steve closer to full consciousness. The cessation of movement, the settling of touches. His need for _more_ proves his undoing. Or, rather, provides his means of waking.

“Unnnh, Danny.” His voice is heavy, sleep slurred, and positively dripping in need. His own hand follows Danny’s, their fingers twine together as Steve tugs them down his front, dipping below his waistband, sliding under the soft fabric, coming to rest on his cock (decidedly not soft, and definitely throbbing). He wiggles his hips, settling Danny’s own hardening dick between his butt cheeks with a grunt of satisfaction. 

Danny stifles his own groan with a bite to Steve’s shoulder, and the full-body shiver that convulses Steve shakes the sofa. 

It’s also evidently enough to wake Steve fully to the reality of the situation, remind him of the reason he’s even on the sofa in the first place, and not, as he should be, in Danny’s bed. 

“You... what are you... shit, what are you doing?”

“Loving you,” Danny whispers, he hopes seductively. Desperately is more likely. “Want you in my bed,” he licks into the crease at Steve’s neck. “Want. You.”

“Shhh,” Steve whispers, wanting to quiet Danny’s need, surely more than his voice, as he’s barely spoken aloud. Or maybe Steve’s just giving in, because he turns, agilely—smoothly, gracefully, till he’s able to gather Danny in his arms, pressing their now fully erect dicks together, which makes them both gasp. “We can’t, we’ll wake him.”

“Then come. To. Bed.” Danny punctuates with thrusts, making his meaning clear. 

Steve groans, and it’s maybe a mix of pleasure, of longing, and of frustration, of struggle. 

“But...” he starts, and is stopped as Danny thrusts again, and he has to bite his tongue to silence himself. 

Seeing his opening, Danny surges forward, and loosens Steve’s bite with his own tongue, sweeping past his lips, licking into his mouth, pressing his point as he sucks the sounds directly from Steve’s lungs. 

“We’ll lock the door,” Danny promises Steve’s lips. “We’ll be quiet.” He kisses him again, dirty and desperate, but quiet in that almost intense way like he’s breathing in the sounds he wants to make. _“Please.”_

He knows he’s won from the shift in Steve’s posture. He fails, however, to anticipate the swiftness of Steve’s reaction, and gasps as he’s suddenly standing, being pressed against Steve almost roughly, stubble chafing at his ear as he growls “You play dirty, you know that?” And smacks him none too gently on the ass.

Danny’s muttered “Yeah but you love it” is spoken to the empty room, as Steve’s already in the hall.

By the time Danny catches up with Steve in the bedroom, he’s got his clothes off, a wash cloth ready, and the lube out. 

Danny closes the door, locking it softly, sheds his shirt, stepping out of his pants. He takes the bottle from Steve, pushes him firmly till he falls back on the bed. 

The room is mostly dark, only lit by the nightlight that spills in from his bathroom, and the ambient outside light filtering in between the blinds. Still he knows from experience that Steve’s eyes are blown wide as he watches—his look still of fascination—as Danny kneels over Steve, reaching back, working himself the rest of the way open. 

Steve realizes Danny doesn’t need much, realizes what that means. His voice is rough, strained, as he says “I thought you took too long in the shower. _You planned this.”_

But the thing is, he really didn’t. He’d only been trying to... okay, maybe drive himself a little crazy more than _take the edge off,_ because he hadn’t let himself come. It had felt good though. Thinking about preparing himself for Steve, thinking nothing would come of it, but imagining if Steve knew he was ready. Knew what he was denying himself. 

“I promise, I didn’t plan this,” Danny whispers, leaning in to kiss Steve, and slick his cock with more lube than he needs, hoping it’ll help them stay quiet. “I just couldn’t resist you.”

Danny’d learned very early on that telling Steve he couldn’t help it, couldn’t hold back—anything implying that Steve made Danny lose control—guaranteed Steve tipping over from enjoyment to bliss, and it’s clear on his face, even before Danny starts to sit himself down. The look in his eyes when Danny stills and he re-opens them is hunger and longing, yes. But more than that, it’s absolute adoration. Almost the look of a man who would do anything Danny asked. And there’s a split second where he maniacally thinks this is how he should propose, that if he asked now, Steve would say yes—and mean it. 

He shoves the thought away for the moment, to focus on his need to move, and on finally convincing Steve that a child sleeping under the same roof does not negate the need for sex—for _making love._ It is, broadly speaking, how children come to live under the same roof as loving partners, regardless of how those children are made. Love, the act of love, _all acts of love,_ are not things to avoid because of the presence of little ones. He’ll make his point later with words. For now he makes it with his body, and maybe he’s being fanciful, but he thinks, as Steve fills him with his spend, he thinks maybe Steve finally gets it. He’s even more sure when he reaches up to finish Danny off, and his eyes are glistening tellingly. 

“God you’re gorgeous like this,” Steve pants, his face and voice heavy with sated pleasure. “I’m sorry I resisted this. Sorry I’ve held us back....”

And it’s not like Steve apologizing is some kind of fetish of Danny’s, although probably the case could be argued, but Steve’s fingers are good at things besides guns and other forms of ammo, so if Danny blows his own load a little swifter than he otherwise might, well who’s to say what the real cause is. 

He doesn’t fully pass out, but he does go awfully lightheaded and looses the thread of reality for a few moments, and when he comes to, Steve’s got them cleaned up, has unlocked the door and left it open, and is pulling his shirt back on over his sleep shorts. As Danny watches, Steve crawls into bed next to him, and his eyes must be slightly awed, because Steve chuckles softly, warmly, fondly. 

“What? You’ve made your point. Charlie’s a smart kid, he knows we love each other. He’ll be fine. With me being here.”

Danny tugs his own clothes on, then kisses Steve and looks into his eyes. “He always would have been, babe. It was you who needed time.”

Steve licks his lips and swallows. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Thanks for being patient with me,” he says, settling down in the bed and pulling Danny along with him. 

And if Danny gets the distinct impression Steve means more than just this, well, it’s a thought that settles close to his heart, and warms him as he drifts off to a dreamless and very contented sleep.


	3. The Attention You Deserve

Steve never thought he’d be “the jealous type.” And, honestly it’s less that, than it is he just really wants Danny to himself tonight.

It’s been one of “those” weeks. You know, with the early calls, the late nights, the extra stupid bad guys. Not to mention the whole team seems to be having personal issues, and Steve loves that they come to Danny for advice—because he knows it means so much to Danny, that he thrives on filling that role—but dammit, Steve needs Danny’s attention too, you know. And no, he doesn’t just mean in the exceedingly over-used “in bed” way, like you add onto a fortune from a fortune cookie. 

The truth is, Steve likes it when Danny has some of that extra energy to burn off and it gets channeled in Steve’s direction. Stupid as it sounds, being harassed about things like the order in which he folds the towels (bath towels first, hand towels next, wash cloths last, because that way you can stack them in sets, which has some kind of implicit advantage Steve still hasn’t worked out) fills some kind of deep, existential need in Steve. And when it doesn’t happen for an extended period of time, well, it can start to wear on him.

It’s possible that’s partly just because Steve had rated Danny’s growing affection for him partly on the waxing and waning of his harassment of him. Or, more to the point, the _types_ of said harassment. The more personal, housekeeping-based criticisms had been a step in the right direction, Steve had known. It hadn’t been too long after those had started in earnest that Danny’d ended up in Steve’s bed.

So maybe he’s being a little paranoid with how closely he’s been keeping tabs on Danny’s irritation level, but to him it matters. Matters that Danny still maintains a certain level of vexation at Steve’s normal everyday activities. It’s a way of being sure he’s still loved. And tonight, for whatever reason, he really needs to know he’s loved.

Still, he does love having the team over. Loves that they all gravitate to his place on Friday nights after weeks like this. It’s a finely tuned habit at this point. Tani brings something sweet for dessert. Adam makes a salad. Lou runs the grill. Danny manages the whole thing, while Steve and Junior mix up some drinks. 

Eddie’s in charge of games. Tonight it’s a mellow but satisfying round of See Who Gives The Best Belly Rubs, mostly because Eddie can no doubt tell they’re all tired and in need of comfort. He’s really intuitive that way, and Steve knows the team appreciates it. He can’t help but think he could do with a good belly rub himself—though probably he means a little bit lower, and absolutely he means just him and Danny up in their room. Obviously.

He’s mellow tonight too. They all are. Danny’s perched on the arm of Steve’s chair, leaning close enough he can smell his soap. Any closer and Steve would be in real danger of tugging him actually onto his lap. When Danny gets up to check on the food, or clean something up, Steve feels the loss of closeness like an actual hurt. From the look on Tani’s face, she’s noticed. He almost might think she’s worried he did get hurt after all, in that last round of chases and leaps over fences and the usual crazy shit. He didn’t. But each minute that passes that he’s not naked in bed with Danny feels like it must leave a mark on his skin.

Finally, everyone’s gone, and it’s just the two of them—Eddie having taken himself off to his favorite post-team gathering napping place, under the dining room table. 

Something in Danny’s energy, as he shuts and locks the door, something in his posture as he turns, slowly, purposefully, towards Steve... something in the electricity in the air sets Steve’s personal warning klaxons blaring in his ears. He’s done something wrong, he’s just sure of it. Probably he’s been too grumpy, too sullen, not played host well enough, been too self-absorbed, too focused on his own frustrations, his own longings. 

But Danny doesn’t scold him... instead he _apologizes._

“That must have been so hard for you,” Danny says, tone surprisingly soft. 

He walks slowly toward Steve, who almost steps back, reflexively still worried he’s about to be lectured on Being a Proper Host. He just manages to stay still, but he doesn’t manage to not flinch a little when Danny’s hands land on the front of his shirt, caressing up and over his shoulders, pressing their chests together, reaching up for a slow and lingering kiss. 

“Must have been so hard, wanting me to yourself, needing my full attention, going crazy wanting them to all leave, so we could be together, so I could give you the attention you need, the attention you deserve.”

And, okay, Steve’s heart is racing now, and it’s only partly because that was some kiss. He’s not at all sure Danny isn’t messing with him, working up to some massive scolding, some rant about something Steve’s not even aware he’s done. 

But Danny sure seems genuine. And so does the second kiss. Which sends shivers of need, of longing, of desire, all along every inch of Steve’s skin. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up and to bed,” Danny whispers, trailing his fingers down Steve’s arms to take his hand and tug him towards the stairs. He starts to protest, point out the dishes need to be done, but Danny shushes him, saying “You’re more important than the dishes, babe. They’ll wait, you won’t.”

And Steve’s pretty sure he should object to that order of priorities, but honestly he’s not sure he could. He’s positively transfixed by Danny’s single minded focus. So he lets himself be led up the stairs and into his room— _their_ room. And maybe once they’re there, once Danny’s shut the door, maybe Steve expects the energy to change, expects Danny’s tone to change, and okay, it kind of does. 

It _intensifies._

Danny first lifts Steve’s tee over his head. Presses kisses along his collar bone, trailing across his shoulder, turning to his back as he walks, backwards, behind him toward the laundry basket, throwing the shirt on top. 

He steps close, still behind Steve, stepping right up against him, reaching around his front to unbutton and unzip his cargos, letting them drop, encouraging Steve to step out of them, turning him around, and gentling his briefs similarly down around his ankles, brushing his face, his lips, tantalizingly close to Steve’s filling dick as he goes. 

Danny stands, tosses both briefs and pants in the hamper, pulls his own clothes swiftly off, then reaches for Steve’s hand, leading him toward the shower. They brush teeth while the water heats up, and by the time they step into the steaming spray, Steve’s not the only one quivering with need. 

Lips crush against lips, tongues delve deeply into mouths that whimper with need, with frustration, with the kind of desire that can only build when you know full well what you’re missing, what you could be doing, if only you were alone, if only everyone else would just go home. 

“You were so good tonight,” Danny pants, into Steve’s mouth, his own level of arousal now making it clear to Steve that he hadn’t been the only one whose mind had been up here, doing this, all the while they ate and talked and played host. “Such a good boss, such a good friend, such a good boyfriend.” 

Danny grabs the soap, works up way more lather than he needs, works every inch of Steve’s body, like he’s cleansing not just the sweat, the mud, the sand of the day, but the exhaustion, the irritation of the entire week, from his skin, from his soul. And Steve thinks maybe Danny’d go for the practical and probably wise approach, get them both taken care of in here, cleaned up, rinsed away, so they can fall into bed, and fall swiftly asleep—as he knows they probably should, probably would. 

But Danny doesn’t let his focus with the soap linger on any one area for long enough to bring Steve satisfaction. Instead he stays just long enough at each of Steve’s many erogenous areas to build his need to a fevered pitch, till he’s positively humming with desire, with an almost explosive need for release. 

It’s Danny super power. Steve’s learned that much, in the months they’ve been doing this, getting to know where each kiss, each bite, each touch does the most to excite, to arouse, to satisfy. Danny knows exactly what he’s doing, could do this with his eyes shut— _has_ done this with his eyes shut. Steve knows Danny’s just as readily. It’s just that Steve’s are so much more intense. So much less easy for him to control. So much easier for Danny to manipulate. 

Now, don’t go thinking that’s unfair. Because Steve knows exactly how to get to Danny, precisely the steps to take to make him come completely undone. But Danny’s are more about control, more about being shown, with strength, with just that little bit of force, just how powerfully Steve needs him, wants him, craves him. 

Steve’s are more subtle. Just the right touch at the back of his knee. That tantalizing brush of a kiss at the base of his neck. A finger lightly trailed along the path of his tattoos. Danny knows each one, builds Steve up with an expert, practiced hand—and tongue—then leaves him, quite literally quavering as Danny quickly washes himself clean, then they’re both out, dried just enough, and landing in a heap of limbs on the bed, and there’s a brief battle of wills, Steve wanting to touch, to suck, to thrust almost more than he wants to be taken care of, but Danny’s having none of it tonight. Tonight, Danny’s in charge. And Steve knows better than to resist. 

He’s absolutely thrilled he didn’t force the issue, when Danny’s got him pinned, and takes his full length in his mouth and doesn’t even hesitate, just gulps him down like he’s been dying of thirst all day. And frankly that’s pretty much how it feels. But Steve won’t last like this, and he very much wants to last, so he eases Danny back, employs some of his own control, some of his own tactics he knows can help. Gentles Danny with a hand in his hair, mussing the slicked back strands, twirling them between his fingers, hypnotically almost. Meditatively. Transfixed. It soothes Danny, slows him. Gets him to linger because he loves the attention, will draw out his attentions on Steve’s cock, take the extra time, use his tongue not just suction, give some attention too to Steve’s balls, because for all he still swats Steve’s hands away from his hair during the day, he craves them there at night, and Steve relishes the power knowing that gives him. 

It’s not long, even with the slowed pace, heck maybe because of it, till Steve’s pulsing into Danny’s mouth, not long till he’s melting into the bed, the day, the week, literally drained from him in his release. And he needs his recovery time, knows anything he attempts right away will be done poorly at best, but when he sees Danny take himself in hand, he wants to stop him, _needs_ to stop him, and the best he can manage is downright close to a growl. 

Fortunately, Danny responds beautifully to Steve’s more animalistic tendencies, and this is no exception. He shakes with need, but he stops, hands falling to his side, dick throbbing in the air, red and swollen and leaking. And honestly the sight is enough to make Steve’s own need start to swell again.

“God you drove me crazy tonight,” Steve rasps out, voice as raw as though he’d yelled when he came which he hadn’t, though he sure could have. “Sitting so close, touching so much. Driving me insane with your bare feet and your lazy, sexy posture.” He lets his fingers trail down Danny’s length, swirling briefly at his hole, brushing the backs of his fingers against Danny’s balls, pressing lightly, then firmly, then lightly again. “Do you know what that does to me? How I can’t think of anything but this....” 

He wraps his fingers around the base of Danny’s cock and squeezes. Holding... breathing, panting, really, watching Danny start to squirm, before finally, finally starting to move his hand, slowly but tightly, spreading Danny’s own slickness easily, gaining speed to the time of Danny’s breaths. God, he loves this. Loves watching Danny respond. Utterly against his will, just completely at Steve’s mercy as he builds him toward his climax, backs away, pushes forward again. Until it’s Steve rather than Danny who can take no more, and falls on him, needing to kiss, to devour, feeling Danny’s wetness spread between their still damp bodies. 

Once they recover, Steve gets a towel, cleans them up, kisses Danny some more. They both drift, blearily toward sleep. As Steve’s eyes flutter closed he hears Danny say: “So I was thinking we should have the team back over this weekend, since everyone was too tired to really have a good time....”

And Steve laughs, low and soft, tugs Danny close, bites at the edge of his ear and replies. “Whatever you want, my love. Whatever you want.”


	4. Hands in Pockets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note: I’ve added “angst and feels” to the tags. This chapter is much more emotionally intense and more serious than the first three chapters have been.

It wasn’t like he set out to develop a new habit on purpose. It just kinda happened. Completely honestly, he’s not even sure when it started happening or how. He’s pretty sure the first time he even realized he’d done it was when he noticed Quinn gazing at him with that surprisingly soft expression she gets only rarely. The one that always makes him want to punch the people who’ve hurt her, because she’s so obviously got a softer heart than the shell that mostly shows. 

Kinda like Steve, Danny thinks. Which maybe partly explains either why she’s been watching them, or why it matters to Danny that she approves. Or probably both. 

The point is, somewhere along the line, Danny developed a habit of sticking his hands in Steve’s pockets, and the team doesn’t seem to mind. 

Of course, Tani had gloated, for about a week (no, surely more) after they had officially announced to the team that they were “seeing each other.” (Lou’s snicker at Steve’s word choice ranks near the top of Danny’s favorite reactions to a relationship ever, because really it’s the best description of it... seeing a whole lot “more” of each other, _if you know what I mean._ ) But the team has been the kind of delighted you always hope your friends will be when you have a new relationship that means absolutely the world to you, but they mean the world to you too—and that’s the thing isn’t it. It’s all a great big extended family kind of thing, and yeah, him and Steve being mom and dad has always been kind of a joke within the team, but at the same time maybe that little bit of wish fulfillment on the part of teammates who have known all along the inevitability of Steve and Danny being... well, _Steve And Danny._

So maybe it’s affected how they are together in front of the team. Maybe it’s made it easier for them, to not fight so hard against that half-conscious, a little _too_ intimate, maybe too revealing... that lingering touch of a hand to Danny’s shoulder as Steve stands to get more beers, or the look Danny gives him right before he goes and does something probably a little risky and stupid. Or how meaningfully close they sit, Friday nights, out for burgers at the poolside bar at the Hilton. 

The hands in the pockets thing, well, that’s been probably one step a little bit too far, and Quinn’s secret smile at him when she catches him at it for the third time in a week makes him think maybe he should stop, but the thing is by that point he just can’t.

One of the things about being in a relationship with Steve—and yeah, okay, they’ve basically been “in a relationship” for ten years, he gets that. But the thing about dating Steve McGarrett while working with Steve McGarrett is that you have to be okay with knowing he’s gonna do Steve Things. And just as you had to be okay (and yet not okay) about it when you were “just” partners, now that you’re also, well, _partners,_ you have to almost be _more_ okay with it. And, frankly, that’s not the easiest thing in the world. 

So, yeah, the hands in pockets thing probably grew out of that.

Maybe it’s kind of like a way Danny can hold on to him, without, you know, actually holding him back, holding him still. He slips a hand into Steve’s back pocket as they stand side by side planning some risky something, and Danny knows Steve understands. He lets his fingers slip from belt loops into front pocket while they wait to hear back on recon, and it’s not hand holding, but it’s nearly as reassuring. And when Steve steps closer, under the guise of shifting his stance, he knows Steve takes comfort from it as well. 

Mostly it’s unobtrusive. Mostly it’s only when they’re apart from the public, or the force in general, when they’re just with the core team. The ohana, who know and support and understand.

And then, one day, it _is_ in front of the public. 

It’s not like he plans it. Not like he could even have controlled it. Prevented it. Not like he would have wanted to. And they’ve prepared for this. Talked—haltingly, uncomfortably, but necessarily—usually when they’re already too tired, too worn out, too raw. 

_What happens when we have to walk into those situations we know full well we might not walk back out of._

_What happens when we can’t say goodbye—just in case._

Danny’s whole hand falls all the way into Steve’s front pocket. They’re standing side by side, facing the impending disaster, together. Steve turns, actually bodily turns to face him, and Danny knows all Steve’s looks, knows his every expression. But he’s never seen this one before. Never seen the “I know you’ve got my back” look combined with the “I need to kiss you right now but I can’t” look, and it damn near breaks his heart on the spot. 

Steve’s hand slides down Danny’s arm. Pressing his hand more firmly into his pocket, and it’s the most they can do, in that split second, in that one moment they dare take _—have to take—_ before the situation hits “resume” and instinct kicks in and everyone knows exactly what to do, what their roles are, and thank god for that, for the strength of it, for the overwhelming trust in it. And there’d always been part of Danny that had wondered, had worried, when it came down to it, when it came right the fuck down to this exact moment, if he’d have the balls, the guts, the love, the trust, the _ability,_ to let Steve be Steve. 

And the thing is, he does. 

And thank fuck. 

But when the dust clears, and blue eyes meet hazel ones, through more than a few drops of blood, and probably damaged hearing (again), and definitely some pretty big bruises and maybe a light sprain, and a couple nice future scars, there’s something new in the expression on Steve’s face. And it’s relief, and some kind of comfort _—we knew this would be a test, and we passed._ But it’s also need. And desire. 

And it’s complicated and yet utterly simple. 

And it’s gonna be far, far too long before they can do anything about it. 

And Duke is there, and a couple of the others who know them well, but also quite a few who don’t. And more than a smattering of public, drawn by the drama as always. And maybe no one really notices, because Steve is very visibly hurt, and so his partner having an arm around him is maybe something easily excused. And maybe no one really notices where exactly Danny’s hand is resting, that it’s not just at his back, but in his back pocket. And the team closes in, protectively, instinctively—like they always would but now even more so. And Danny really couldn’t give a rat’s ass anyway. But no one says anything. And thank fuck for that too. 

Thanks even more when they get back to HQ and Quinn and Lou offer to go get lunch so they can at least eat something after the disaster of a day, and thank Tani for taking Junior over to the main police office to do the immediate paperwork, and bless Adam—oh god bless Adam—for basically standing guard, after essentially shoving Steve and Danny into Steve’s office and very heavily suggesting they close the blinds and he’ll make sure there’s still food for them. 

Which is how they end up making out under the watchful eye of whatever surveillance system may or may not be in operation in Steve’s office, frankly Danny doesn’t give a rat’s ass or any other ass because there’s just no way he’s not kissing the life _into_ his boyfriend right now. 

It’s not long before kisses dissolve into touches that explore and verify. _This body part intact, that one injured._ It’s not long before touches evolve into kisses, turn into whispers... murmured nonsense meant to convey _I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you from getting hurt_ and _thank you for not dying_ and actual words like _love_ and _need_ and _thank god_ and _please._

They wouldn’t have planned it, would not have consented to it. Steve would have said _no way_ and even if he hadn’t Danny would have pointed out regulations don’t need to exist to know _some lines don’t get crossed_ but the thing is there are no lines for _this._ There’s nothing but need and necessity and what simply has to be and there’s no _waiting_ when life’s just proved waiting is not a concept that matters to life, and you take each and every moment for everything it’s worth because you never know what next moment you might get.

So when all the important functional parts are assured as mostly working okay, hands turn to other important functional parts, because it really just is that important. And it’s kind of stupid that it takes only a fraction of the time it should, and there’s something utterly panicked about it, and it’s not even gratifying but oh god is it necessary. And it only makes sense they’d change anyway, out of bloodied and torn clothes, so the fact they come all over their pants doesn’t fucking matter in the least because some things just mean so much more. 

The kisses after matter even more, and it’s like now that they’ve come it allows them to start to come down from the manic intensity of it all, and silent tears fade into soft laughter, and if there are any other emotions they’ve somehow left out, they’re not emotions Danny’s ever even heard of, and it’s exhausting and yet somehow it’s exhilarating at the same time, and doesn’t that just fucking figure.

He’s not at all sure how long it is, before they emerge, clothed and cleaned. Less bloody, less panicked, but still shaken. He’s touched and warmed and five other soft and grateful things that the whole team is crammed into Lou’s office, and bless them for making it seem like they’re there because he’s got the best music and the nicest chairs and not because his has the most visual protection from Steve’s office, offers the most privacy yet the most protective stance should anyone else, anyone not-team, enter the office. 

And it’s close quarters, as Danny and Steve cram in and grab sandwiches and beers, so maybe that’s why. Maybe it’s all just so easily explainable, or maybe it means as much as it looks like it does from the expression on Quinn’s face when she sees, that Steve’s got his hand in Danny’s back pocket. And Steve obviously sees her notice, and Danny feels when it happens, because he feels Steve pull him closer. 

And it’s just a pocket. But it means so much more. And that means the world to him. To them both. To them _all._ And thank fuck for that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those keeping track, yes, well spotted, I do have two other stories involving hands in pockets. Both are _much_ lighter, in case you need a little tension breaking after this. You can find them here: _The Best Medicine_ [Chapter 32](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5560741/chapters/34336887) and [Chapter 34](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5560741/chapters/34820480).


	5. Sweet Potatoes and Ice Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you guys. Back when I started this series at the beginning of July, I fully planned on posting every other day as long as I could manage, for the whole month. Obviously I managed a *lot* less than I’d hoped. Well, here after too long a pause, is some comfort smut and comfort food—just don’t blame me if you wind up craving odd ice cream flavors after reading this. 

“Go back to sleep.”

Steve sounds that kind of wide awake but trying to convince Danny not to stay awake himself—because he knows Danny worries when he doesn’t sleep enough, and that maybe softens Danny’s heart, but it also makes him less likely to comply. 

And, okay, so Eddie’s at that age where sometimes he needs to go out in the middle of the night, and Steve’s always the one to take him, because hell, Danny’s lived through that not with one kid but two, thank you. But Danny’s kinda at that age himself where waking up at three am often means he may as well go make the damn coffee right now. 

It’s been one of those weeks. 

You know the kind—where it’s not really that hard to get through, but it’s hard enough, and the first fucking thing that goes is, well... let’s just say that _sleep_ becomes more important than certain other things one might do in bed if one were sleeping enough to begin with. 

Sex. Alright? It’s sex. They haven’t had sex all week, if you must know. Well, there was that sloppy hand job in the shower on Tuesday, but they were half asleep and it didn’t really help much anyway. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Danny points out, rolling closer to Steve as though he’ll cuddle to prove his silence. Or maybe it’s just more that he really misses touching his boyfriend, but he forgets how much it helps, when they’re both a little too far on the tired-and-crabby side of things. 

Steve maybe forgets it too, because as soon as Danny touches him, his expression softens, spreads into a grin, and he pulls Danny into his embrace, wiggling his hips as he settles further into the bed, the dog-like action making Danny’s heart tingle, like it always does.

“Yeah,” Steve admits. “But you were _thinking_ it, and I don’t need you yammering away at me in the middle of the night.”

Danny sputters, but it’s mostly amusement. “Yammering...?” He starts to protest, but it’s less than half hearted, and fades as the term stirs a forgotten argument. “Hey, is it yams we don’t really eat? Or is that sweet potatoes?” 

It was a debate begun (and abandoned) last Thanksgiving. Begun by Steve as an attempt at inducing some tension-breaking banter between them while Danny had a near nervous breakdown over which version to make of sweet potatoes or candied yams or whatever the fuck they’re called (or, more to the point, actually _are_ ). Abandoned, of course, to kissing, and then to something even better. Like eating one of Danny’s “test” pies (pecan versus _bourbon_ pecan and chocolate pecan versus chocolate _bourbon_ pecan... and yes that’s obsessive, and you can keep that opinion to yourself thanks). 

Eaten in bed, of course.

He almost expects to be whacked on the head, for bringing the topic up again, but instead there’s a pause, and then an almost thoughtful sound, and clearly Steve’s recalling the abandoned topic as well. (Or possibly the after effects, as he stirs slightly, shifting his hips.)

“I don’t remember...” he says, but his tone is syrupy. Heavy with that sweetness he gets when he’s letting himself get lost in a happy memory of their still-not-very-old Relationship With A Capital R.

And already, Danny knows he’s won. He doesn’t care _so_ much about the neglected sex, but he does need this time—time actively _being_ with Steve, touching, being aware. Awake. The sound-asleep cuddling is nice too of course, and Danny’s sure he sleeps better when Steve holds him so tightly it’s like he’s afraid Danny’ll sleep walk or something if he lets him go. But Danny misses _this_ the most—the just hanging out in bed talking—when they’re simply too tired and fall asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows at night. He’ll trade sleep for it tonight, and gladly. 

“Well...? You gonna look it up?”

Steve tugs him closer, squeezing that little bit too tight Danny knows means he’s fighting to release a bit more of that old fear, the one that Danny really might just disappear, like everyone else he’s ever loved.

“Am I gonna look... oh my god. You’re incorrigible.”

“Yeah. I am, aren’t I? Now look it up!” 

Danny pushes out of Steve’s grasp, gently, reassuringly, but firmly. Holding him down and putting his weight against Steve’s chest to still him, to stop the fear. When he feels the tension break, he lowers himself and rests his head on Steve’s chest, fluffing himself and the blankets around him as though Steve’s all pillow and it’s completely normal to treat so solid a chest as something so soft. 

(It’s not in the least soft and Danny doesn’t care in the slightest.)

Steve chuckles, already reaching for his phone. “... _Please_?” He asks, waiting for Danny to beg.

“Okay, fine, _please_.” Danny’s eyes flutter closed. There’s something so totally comforting about sleeping on Steve’s chest while he reads aloud from his phone and no, Danny’s not gonna analyze that one too closely. 

“Mmmmm.” Steve brushes a hand through Danny’s hair twice before settling in to type at his phone.

Danny actually almost starts to fall back asleep, as Steve softly mutters to himself, rejecting first one than another explanation of the differences between the tubers as confusing or flat out contradictory, before Danny hears a decisive exclamation.

“Ah, here we go.”

He forces his eyes open to focus on the explanation that’s coming... but none does. Instead, soft, slightly muted sounds of pleasure vibrate up from Steve’s chest.

“What’s going on babe?”

“Mmmm.... _A universe of milk chocolate ice cream with fudge cows and toffee meteor clusters orbiting a sugar cookie dough core,_ ” Steve recites.

“Pardon?”

“Ohh, or: _A cold mess of chocolate ice cream with fudge chips and crunchy potato chip swirls_.”

Okay, that’s at least slightly more related, but what the fuck? “Steven, how is this explaining sweet potatoes?”

“Ah. This is the one I’d want,” Steve says, the excitement vibrant in his tone, and now Danny’s truly worried about Steve’s recent lack of sleep because he’s really not an ice cream guy. “ _Peanut butter ice cream with sweet and salty pretzel swirls and fudge brownies_... you’re my sweet and salty pretzel swirl, Danny,” Steve adds, tone positively dripping in sweetness and not at all salty, and suddenly his phone is clanking on the bedside table, and Danny’s arm is being licked. Like, actually licked, like he’s some kind of ice cream cone. 

“Oh I’m sweet and salty, am I?” Danny’s amusement is cut with something a lot closer to desire, and it makes him shiver. Not unlike brain freeze.

Steve pauses his licking to roll his eyes, a gesture he learned from Danny, so it’s not like he can complain. “Well, yeah, obviously.”

Danny laughs, but when Steve resumes his attentions, it’s suddenly a whole lot less amusing and a whole lot more sexy. “Mmmm. Well, as long as you’re going to lick me....”

And, not to imply that Steve can be easily persuaded to suck Danny’s dick with a really simplistic combination of him being sassy and basically asking for it.... But Steve can be really easily persuaded to suck Danny’s dick from a very simple combination of Danny being sassy, and him actually asking for it. 

He doesn’t even bother to take his boxer briefs off, just tugs him out, and doesn’t so much lick as he slurps. 

And it happens sometimes with Steve still. That sudden overwhelming flood of emotions. Like before with the too-tight-hug. And he gags a little, but it just propels him forward, and he grabs Danny by the hips, fingertips digging painfully in, and that feels more like the release he probably deserves, because he’s been a lot saltier than sweet this week. He knows it. Doesn’t exactly love that about himself, but it’s how he copes. Steve never minds, or so he claims, but Danny wouldn’t be prepared to swear it doesn’t affect him, affect his mood. Maybe even his performance at work. 

They’ve been a little hard on each other this week. And probably that hasn’t helped. What _does_ help is this. And he knows they need to remember that. Which is about to be a lot less likely because he’s already completely hard and twitching in Steve’s mouth, but he doesn’t want it to go like this—you gratify me, I’ll gratify you. That’s practical. It’s effective. But it’s not the loving connection they both need right now, so much more than just sex. 

To that end, Danny gentles Steve off him and on to his back. Forgoing the direct approach, he first weights him down, climbing fully atop him, aligning their bodies, their limbs. Settling down, settling in. Slow. Solid. Letting his weight be active against Steve’s struggling frame. Till he eases. Till he sighs. Then, once he’s started really melting into it, Danny kisses his way across that broad expanse of chest, alternating sharp toothy kisses with slurpier wet kisses, never letting Steve settle into either one, but keeping him on edge enough that it builds his desire but doesn’t escalate it past a certain point. Only once he’s started swearing under his breath does Danny venture anywhere near Steve’s cock, which is past straining at his boxers and has made its own way free, jutting out and dripping, so sensitive Steve actually flinches when Danny finally descends on it, capturing the precome with his tongue before it falls from Steve’s flushed and throbbing dick. 

“God, Danny,” he pants, and Danny’s own dick responds as does his heart rate, from the desperate need in his voice. “Miss this. Miss you. Need this so bad, need _you_ so bad. Have been thinking about this all week....” And hearing Steve mindlessly rattle on always thrills him, propels him, ever curious to know what else Steve might admit. But maybe tonight Steve’s afraid of what might escape his lips, or maybe his need just runs in another direction, because it’s not long before he’s pulling Danny up and falling onto his lips like it’s the only way he can get air. 

Desperate hands find desperate cocks, and everything is over far too fast, but the need, the want, the longing, doesn’t diminish in the least and kisses become deep and delving, a lovemaking of their own, more meaningful than the desperate release that really was more about tension than passion. Their kisses soften into pure love, and it’s not till they’re sighing finally, falling apart, sticky mess drying between them that they realize it.

“We really need to not let it get that bad,” Danny says, wincing as his hairs pull painfully apart from where they’ve entangled with their commingled come and Steve’s own hairs. 

“What would you suggest? Asking the island’s baddies to please take our sex life into account when they’re scheduling things?” 

Danny huffs a laugh. “The implication there being they coordinate?” 

“It sure seems like it sometimes,” Steve says, sounding more resigned than bitter. He shrugs. 

Danny squints at him, frowning, and insists “I’m pretty sure there’s not some island-wide conspiracy to keep us from having sex,” but it just makes Steve grin. 

“You never know. You are _really_ hot.”

“Shut up,” Danny says, knowing he’s blushing and kinda hating it. 

“What,” Steve presses, knowing Danny's insecurities only too well. “I’m only saying what everyone on Oahu knows is true.”

“Yeah well, they also know I’m yours,” Danny reminds him. 

“Which is my point exactly,” Steve concludes proudly, and Danny gives in with a sigh. 

“As much as I enjoy the flattery, can we please continue this in the shower?”

“You go ahead, I’d better go get us coffee.”

Danny looks at the clock, and sure enough, they probably should start getting ready for work. “Ah. Well... you could go in late once in your life, dontcha think?”

Steve waggles his eyebrows. “Oh, really? What would the team say?”

“We’ll take ‘em the ice cream. They’ll say _Thank you_.”

“Okay,” Steve relents, which honestly surprises Danny more than a little. “Shower first, then coffee, then back to bed.” He pauses for impact, his eyes sparking with lust. “But I’m pretty sure it won’t be for sleep.”

“Absolutely fair.”

The shower is all pragmatic, and Steve gets out first to go make coffee, while Danny preps himself, then they kiss sporadically while they sip their coffee, turning to lazy coffee scented blow jobs, then Steve fucks Danny long and slow and sweet and Danny murmurs something about evil plans of villainous bad guys who would dare keep this splendor from his life, and when it’s Steve who blushes, Danny thinks it might be his favorite day yet. 

They’re resting contented yet slightly buzzed after, and Danny’s thoughts—ever a swirl, even after amazing sex—return once more to sweet, orange, thin skinned vegetables. 

“By the way, which one was it?”

Steve’s hazier in his post-orgasmic bliss. He _huhs?_ Then: “Oh, the pretzel one, obviously.”

“No, you idiot,” Danny swats clumsily at him (okay maybe he’s more physically affected than he’d realized, or maybe it's the lack of sleep). “Sweet potatoes or yams?”

“Oh. I actually didn’t find out,” Steve says, reaching once for his phone, but giving up before dislodging Danny’s head from his lap. “I started to watch a clip of Alton Brown, because obviously we’ll believe what he says. But I got an ad for the Ben and Jerry’s Netflix flavors....” He trails off, fingers lingering over Danny’s arm where he’d licked him, precipitating the whole morning’s events. 

“Yeah, okay. Well, maybe tonight then?” Danny suggests, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t mean sweet potatoes.

“Yeah, maybe so,” replies Steve, in a thoughtful tone that clearly echoes Danny’s own thinking. 

“We better eat some breakfast before we go get the ice cream,” Danny says, only realizing once it’s out that he sounds a lot like his boyfriend, with that obsessive focus on protein. 

“Well, I’m not sure I’m up for more just yet,” Steve moves to adjust Danny so he can kiss him. “But I’m sure willing to try.”


End file.
